Someone to Watch Over Me
by Zubeneschamali
Summary: COMPLETE. An alternate ending for 'Man Hunt.' What motivates someone to offer his or her life in exchange for that of a stranger? Numb3rs Awards Round One winner for best AU.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Someone to Watch Over Me

Author: Zubeneschamali

Rating: T (language, violence)

Summary: An alternate ending for "Man Hunt." What motivates someone to offer his or her life in exchange for that of a stranger?

Author's Notes: I loved the episode "Man Hunt," particularly the characters of Cooper and Karen, but I couldn't help but wonder: what if the ending was (more than) a little different? I put one line of dialogue in another character's mouth, and went from there…

Many beta reading thanks to Elaine, especially for the medical parts. (Now there's a spoiler if I ever heard one!) Also thanks to Winter for additional comments. Any remaining errors are my own.

Disclaimer: The characters (and some of the dialogue) here are not mine, but the property of the good people at CBS. I'm only using them for fun and angst.

oooooooooooooooo

Don peered around the corner, gun at the ready. He'd last seen McDowd disappear in this direction, but now there was no sign of the fugitive. He saw the white flash of Cooper's shirt across the roof, and mentally recalculated the likelihood of where their quarry might be. He needed to keep an eye on the stairwell to make sure the bastard didn't double back and go after Karen. Hopefully, she was safely ensconced in a room waiting for backup to arrive. Hopefully, that backup was already here.

He heard a sound off to his left and trained his gun in that direction. Cooper had been just to his right. He momentarily thought of the rush of adrenaline his former partner had talked about, the heightened senses you felt when you were about to close in on your prey. He remembered that feeling and wondered briefly why he wasn't feeling it now. They had the guy cornered; it was only a matter of time.

In a few seconds, Don realized he was wrong. McDowd wasn't the one who was cornered. He was.

The soft noise behind him had been too close for him to react. By the time he started turning, there was a gun barrel digging into the back of his neck, and a low voice was hissing in his ear, "Move and there's a hole in your head."

He froze in disbelief. How had the son of a bitch gotten behind him? His eyes flickered across the rooftop. No sign of Cooper. All he had to do was stall this guy long enough for Billy to realize what was going on, and they'd run through one of the scenarios they'd practiced and used years ago. He forced himself to stay calm, slowly raising his hands.

"Give me that," McDowd snapped, grabbing the gun from his hand. "Where's your partner?"

Don shrugged. "Coming up behind you, no doubt." The pressure on his neck didn't ease. Okay, strike one. "Last I saw him, he was heading downstairs to meet our backup."

The gun barrel pressed harder. Apparently, strike two. "Let's go find him then, shall we, Agent?"

At the shove from behind, Don started moving forward. McDowd was so close behind him, they were practically touching. He couldn't take advantage of it in his current position, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to think of possible ways out.

There was a movement up ahead, and Don was jerked to a stop behind a large exhaust pipe. "That him?" his captor whispered.

'Who the hell else would it be?' he wanted to say, but thought maybe it wasn't the right time to be a smartass. "Probably," he said instead.

They didn't move. Then Cooper came out from around another large pipe, weapon extended in front of him, eyes firmly fixed across the roof, perpendicular to where they were standing.

Don heard a low chuckle in his ear. Then to his horror, McDowd straightened his arm and leveled his gun at Billy. "Coop!" Don shouted, but it was too late.

The blast of the gun nearly deafened Don, but it was the bullet hitting its mark that made him cry out. Billy Cooper fell backward, his arms splayed out to the side, his head hitting the asphalt of the roof with a loud thump. Then he lay there, perfectly still.

"No!" Don started forward, but McDowd jerked him back by his arm. "You'll get your turn," he sneered. "Now take off that vest of yours. I got a feeling I need it more than you."

He closed his eyes, fighting a mix of anger and fear that was almost overpowering. Coop was wearing a vest, right? He couldn't have seen what he just saw. But when he opened his eyes, Billy's unmoving body was still there.

"Come on, move it." McDowd gave him a shove, and Don mechanically started removing his bulletproof vest. The sweat on his back instantly cooled in the breeze blowing across the roof, and he gave an involuntary shiver. McDowd snatched the vest from his hand, and he heard a rustling as the fugitive put it on. His captor managed to keep the gun at the small of his back all the while; he could still feel the heat from the weapon being fired, and it made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Okay, Agent. Where did you tell her to go?"

"What do you mean?" Don asked numbly. Surely the other agents would be here by now; he and Cooper couldn't have driven that much faster than everyone else. If the paramedics were downstairs, maybe they could do something --

The gun jammed harder against his spine, and it brought him back to earth with a jolt. His own neck was far from safe here, and if he understood McDowd correctly, so was the witness's. "Where is she?" he demanded.

"I told her to get out of here," Don snapped back. "She's probably already with the rest of my team."

"Well, we're going to go find out." A hand on his upper arm dragged him away from the sight of Cooper's body and towards the stairwell. "There's nowhere she could have run, you know. All the other doors were locked. I checked before I found her. As long as she doesn't want to see you killed, she'll let me in."

"Like hell," Don muttered between his clenched teeth as he stumbled across the roof. "You're not getting near her, McDowd."

The other man gave him a shake. "You don't have anything to say about it, Agent. Now move."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in Part 1.

ooooooooooooooo

Karen Fisher slammed the door shut and locked it. Then she pressed her forehead against the wood and forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to clear her head and figure out what to do.

She'd never been so frightened as she was a few minutes ago, not even when she'd watched one man murder another. That had been so sudden, so shocking, that she hadn't even had time to do more than etch the man's face into her mind and get the hell out. Even later, sitting in the courtroom, watching a killer draw a line across his throat, she'd mostly managed to shrug it off. Bravado, she'd told herself. What else could a man who was about to be sent to prison for the rest of his natural life do besides make empty threats?

When the FBI agent first came to her office, she'd shrugged that off, too. It had given her a creepy feeling to think of that murderer out on the loose, but escaped prisoners only went out for revenge in the movies, right? Normal people would stay out of sight and concentrate on getting away.

But normal people wouldn't have been in jail for murder. The second time Agent Eppes came by, her heart sank. She'd already told herself, and him, that she wasn't leaving her patients unless the situation was dire. Now, thanks to some screw-up on the part of the police, things were bad indeed. And so she found herself escorted to a dark-windowed Suburban, making a stop at home long enough to pack a bag for God knew how long, and shuttled off to this empty hotel on the edge of downtown.

A couple of days had passed uneventfully, and she was already wearing a track in the carpet of her little suite with her pacing. Somehow the latest New England Journal of Medicine couldn't hold her attention, and she'd decided years ago that 95 percent of what was on TV was utter garbage. No phone calls were allowed, and she couldn't strike up much of a conversation with the men standing guard outside.

Later, she realized it wasn't the violence itself, but the suddenness of it all that was the worst part. One minute she was staring at the same magazine page she'd been looking at for the past five minutes. Then there was a thump outside, and the door burst open to reveal her worst nightmare.

She'd screamed as McDowd dragged her from the room, until he slapped her across the face. He had a gun and a tight hold on her arm and he was dragging her up to the roof and she was going to die. That was it. Not even time to wonder how the FBI had screwed up again.

Then there were shouts down the staircase, and she didn't think she'd ever been so glad to see anyone in her life. Agent Eppes, who must have been appointed as her personal protector, was racing up the stairs towards them. McDowd stopped running long enough to fire, and to her shock, the FBI agent fired back. She tried to make herself as small as possible, to pull away from the man holding her captive. There was another shot from below, and finally McDowd shoved her back against the wall and took off up the stairs.

Instantly Agent Eppes pounded up the steps, shouting at her to go inside and lock the door. She hurriedly obeyed, stepping aside as the taller, sandy-haired Agent Cooper came charging after him. The sight of the man who had been guarding her crumpled in the hallway gave her pause, but as she knelt down and took his pulse, she breathed a sigh of relief. The doctor in her taking over, she hurriedly assessed his condition and decided not to move him. The swelling on the back of his head made it clear how he'd been rendered unconscious, but she didn't know what other damage there might be. She'd call from inside the room for paramedics, assuming the two FBI agents hadn't already done so.

She tried the door across the hall, but it was locked. So was the next one down. She felt trapped, returning to the same room McDowd had just invaded, but she didn't have much of a choice. Hurrying out of the hallway, she locked the door and took a deep breath. All right, she told herself. Get a plan, Karen. She reached for the telephone, but there was no dial tone. Obviously, McDowd had had help gettting here, and that help had been fairly thorough.

Her head jerked up as a thought occurred to her. That help had to be inside, or he couldn't have found the FBI safe house. She couldn't trust anybody, not even the knight in shining armor she'd thought Don Eppes to be.

No. She'd talked with him on the drive over here, and from that and his visits to her office, she knew he was sincere in his concern for her and his determination to track down McDowd. She could trust him, and his partner, Cooper. But no one else.

She went to the window and looked out. There was a fire escape, somewhat old and rickety, but hopefully it would hold her for the eleven floors it took to get down. She threw open the window and heard the welcome sound of sirens converging from different directions. They couldn't all be in on it. As long as she stayed with multiple people until Agent Eppes came back, she'd be fine.

Then she heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by a shout that made her blood run cold. "Karen!" It was McDowd. "Where are you hiding, girl?"

She shrank back against the window, even though the door was closed and she knew he couldn't see her. The footsteps stopped in front of her door. She cursed herself for not thinking to grab the gun from the guard in the hallway, but it was too late. Putting a hand on the windowsill, she started to climb out.

"I know you're in there." Something pounded on the door. "I've got your FBI friend here, Karen. Open the door or I blow his brains out."

She froze. No. There were two of them on the roof and only one of him. He couldn't have overpowered them both. He had to be bluffing.

"I'm not joking around!"

"Karen, get out of there!" That was Don Eppes' voice, no doubt about it. It was followed by a cracking sound and a grunt of pain.

"I mean it, girl! You let me in or he's dead!"

She closed her eyes. The sirens were coming from directly below, which meant they would have help within minutes. But it sounded like Agent Eppes didn't have that long. "All right!" she called out weakly. "All right."

She slowly walked over to the door, unlocked it, and swung it open. Standing in front of her was Agent Eppes, blood trickling down his right cheek, a gun pressed against his right temple. His eyes met hers, and she was surprised to see more determination and anger than fear. She was sure that fear was the only emotion she was reflecting back at him.

Behind him was McDowd, his face wreathed in a horrible smile. "Thanks, Karen," he said maliciously. "So much easier than breaking down the door."

"Let him go," she said suddenly. Her voice only wobbled a little as she went on, "He's… he's not the one you're after."

"No, but he's my ticket out of here." He gave the FBI agent a shove, and Don stumbled into the room. McDowd followed closely, keeping the gun at his head. "You, on the other hand, are about to go."

She swallowed and took a step back, then another. This was it. She couldn't think of anything to say, any way to stall him long enough for the officers downstairs to come racing to the rescue. Her gaze met Don's again, and his eyes flickered towards the open window. She saw his right hand slowly moving up from his side.

She didn't understand what he was trying to telegraph to her, but she had to think of something. "You can't get away with this," she blurted out. "The police are here, and they're surrounding the building. Give up."

He actually chuckled. "Not when I've come this far. Besides, it'll only take a minute." And he swiftly reached out, pointing the gun at her head.

That was what Don had been waiting for. His right hand suddenly shot up and clamped onto McDowd's wrist, pushing the gun towards the ceiling. "Karen, the window! Get out!" he shouted.

With scarcely a backwards glance, she dashed to the window and threw one leg over the sill. The fire escape was meant to be accessed from the bedroom, not the sitting room, but she could still reach out and grab it. She cast one quick glance back inside and saw the two men struggling for the gun, with neither one seeming to have the upper hand. Saying a quick prayer, she reached for the rusty railing of the iron staircase. It was firm, if flaking a bit, and she prepared to swing her other leg outside and onto the fire escape.

There was a cry from behind her, and she whirled around. Heart in her throat, she saw McDowd aiming a vicious kick at Agent Eppes, who was sprawled on the floor in front of him. Don curled up, emitting another groan, and McDowd stepped back and smirked. Then he looked up and saw her. He gave a malicious smile and raised his gun.

She froze, trapped half inside the room and half out. She couldn't exactly duck, and even if she managed to move to the fire escape, she was still a sitting duck. Then a flash of movement caught her eye. Don was closer to her than to McDowd, and he was uncoiling himself and springing towards her.

She watched in shock as McDowd fired, once, twice, the bullets intersecting with Don's back as he threw himself in front of her. She saw his body jerk from the impacts, his arms outflung towards her. Then his eyes closed as he crashed to the floor in front of the window, blood darkening his navy shirt.

She looked down in horror, then back up at the killer who stood in the doorway, gun still aimed at her. He looked at Don for a moment, then back at her. "Just putting off the inevitable, I guess," he said, starting to squeeze the trigger again.

She closed her eyes.

There were two shots, but they sounded distant. Her eyes flew open, and she realized why. The shots had come from the hallway, where Agent Cooper stood, weapon extended in front of him. McDowd lay on the ground, face down. The vest he'd stolen from Don had protected him from the shot in the back, but not the one in the head.

"It's Agent Cooper, ma'am," he said. "Are you all right?" Then he caught sight of the face-down body in front of her. "Oh, my God. Don?"

She had already knelt beside him, her medical instincts coming to the fore and pushing aside the smell of gunpowder and blood that was soaking the air. His pulse was still strong, and his head was turned slightly to the side, so he was breathing all right. But the back of his shirt was already red. She yanked her black jacket off and pressed it against the two raw, angry wounds. "Are there paramedics here?" she barked.

He had taken a step into the room, staring down at Don. "Uh, yeah, I think so." He shook himself and pulled a radio from his hip. "This is Agent Cooper, eleventh floor. We have an agent down who needs medical attention immediately!"

She looked down at where her hands were pressing. To the side of his spine, that was good. Both on his right side, one probably in the lung, one lower. She tried to keep her mind on the relevant medical information for when the paramedics arrived, firmly blocking out the fact that these bullets had been meant for her, that this man had thrown himself in front of certain death for her. If he died, it was because of her.

She cast a quick glance at McDowd's body. Agent Cooper had stepped over it and followed her gaze. "Don't worry, no one missing that much of his skull can do much of anything." He came forward another step and hesitantly knelt down beside her. "Can I do anything?" he asked quietly.

She gestured back at McDowd. "Can you move him so the paramedics can get in here more easily?"

He paused for a moment, then looked down at Don and his features hardened. "Sure," he said, rising to his feet.

Don stirred, and she bent over him. His face was turned towards her, and she could see it wreathed in pain. "Agent Eppes, you've been shot. Lie still, okay?"

"Not much choice," she heard him mutter faintly. Then his eyes closed, and he went very still.

"Shit." She reached for his neck, and found his pulse fading. "Where are those medics?" she shouted at Cooper, who was dragging McDowd off to the side, leaving a smear of blood on the carpet.

There was a commotion at the door, and two EMTs burst in. "What have we got?" the first one asked.

'Thank God,' she thought. "Two gunshot wounds to the back. His pulse is weakening, and his respirations are shallow and becoming more irregular. He's diapharetic; I think he's going into shock." She wanted to protest as they pushed her aside, then realized that she hadn't done trauma medicine for many years. So she only said, "I'm a medical doctor," letting the man and woman know she could answer questions in their language, but acknowledging they could do more for Don than she could right now.

She answered their questions as they carefully loaded him onto a gurney, and found out they'd be taking him to L.A. County General. When she started to follow them out of the room, Agent Cooper laid a careful hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, Dr. Fisher, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with us. We need to take your statement about what happened."

Karen came to a dead stop. "I need to go with him to the ER," she said, shaking his hand off. "I need to help him."

"I want to go with him too, ma'am. He used to be my partner, and one of my best friends, and because I was knocked out on the roof just now, I couldn't watch his back." Then he stepped in front of her, forcing her to look at him. "But we need to find out everything that happened here, and we need your help to do that. Someone led McDowd here, and we think we know who, but we need to confirm it."

His words slowly sank in. A detached part of her realized it was a delayed reaction fueled by adrenaline, but the rest of her was too busy trying to stay upright as her knees suddenly weakened. "Whoa," Cooper said as he caught her by the elbows. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, taking a deep breath. Then she swallowed. "He has to be all right. He has to."

"I know," he replied quietly. "He's a tough guy. He will be."

Then she allowed him to lead her from the room and downstairs, into that same black Suburban. From the back seat, she watched Agent Cooper, still standing on the sidewalk, dial a number on his cell phone. And then she sent up a silent prayer for Don Eppes and his family as she watched the ambulance speed off in a whirl of lights and sirens.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in Part 1.

The phone rang, and Charlie's head jerked up. He'd been absorbed in his calculations and redesign of fugitive recovery methods for most of the day, ignoring the pile of ungraded final exams that sat on the edge of the table. Sometimes working at home was easier than at school: there were no students poking their heads in the office and inquiring politely, or not, if he'd finished grading yet. On the other hand, there were no telemarketers or solicitors calling in the middle of the day at his office.

He reached across the table and snagged the phone. "Hello?" He flipped through the papers in front of him, ready to hang up the phone as soon as the caller revealed what he or she was selling.

"Charlie?" The voice at the other end was only slightly familiar.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"It's, uh, it's Billy Cooper."

The hesitant tone in Cooper's voice made the hair on the back of Charlie's neck rise. "What's up?" he asked, as his hand went still on the pile of papers. Cooper must be calling to check on the pattern he had put together. That was all it was, he told himself. Don't let your mind jump to conclusions.

And then he said the words Charlie didn't want to hear. "It's, uh, it's Don. He's been shot."

His hand tightened on the receiver. "What happened? Is he all right? Where is he? What -- ?" He broke off as one horrible scenario after another raced through his mind.

_A man aimed a gun at your head and fired. The fact that you survived is an anomaly, and it's unlikely to be the outcome of a second such encounter._

He shook his head and forced himself to listen to what Cooper was saying. "They're taking him to L.A. County General. He was protecting our witness…I don't even know all the details, Charlie. We're going to talk to Dr. Fisher and find out what happened."

"How--" He swallowed past the lump in his throat. His voice came out smaller than it had before. "How bad?"

He heard Cooper sigh and closed his eyes, fighting down panic. "He was shot twice in the back, at pretty close range. The paramedics got him out as fast as they could, and they'll have the best people working on him, trust me." There were voices in the background, and then Cooper said, "I'm sorry, Charlie, I gotta go. I wish I had something more to tell you."

"Yeah. Thanks for letting me know." He mechanically put the phone down, then slumped back into his chair and buried his face in his hands.

_Statistically, you're dead now._ Sometimes he wished he didn't have near-perfect recall, especially when it came to the dire predictions he'd shouted at his brother months earlier. And if those predictions turned out to be right…he knew that part of him would think that just by speaking the words, he had made them come true.

"Charlie?" Alan's voice came from the back yard. "Who was that?"

Oh, God. He had to tell his father.

Charlie slowly lifted his head. "Uh, Dad, I think you'd better come in here," he called.

He heard the sounds of gardening tools being put down, the screen door opening, and Alan's footsteps across the kitchen. He tried to figure out what to say, how to break it to him, how to stay strong himself but still seek comfort from his dad.

"Charlie?" Alan's voice came from the doorway.

He turned to face his father, opening his mouth, which had suddenly gone dry. But from the way Alan's face fell, he knew his own expression said it all.

Alan gripped the doorframe as if for support. "Don?"

Charlie moistened his lips. "He's…he's being taken to County General. Dad, he -- " his voice caught, and he tried again. "He was shot."

His father's face paled. "Where?"

"I don't know where he was, it was something to do with the witness they're protecting…" He didn't know how it could have been at the safe house, since the point of a safe house was to keep the criminals away, but where else could they have been?

"Not where it happened, Charlie, where was he shot?" Alan snapped.

He looked up, surprised.

"Sorry," Alan said, shaking his head, "I…"

"I know. It's okay." He took a deep, shaky breath. "Um, in the back, Cooper said. He didn't know any more than that; I guess it just happened."

"Cooper, huh?" Alan's features hardened. "I knew he was trouble for Don. He was years ago, and now…" His voice trailed off. Then he straightened his shoulders, looking suddenly older. "County General, you said? Let's go."

Three hours later, they were sitting in the waiting room on the fourth floor of the hospital, still waiting to hear something about Don's surgery. Charlie had flipped mindlessly through all the available magazines a long time ago, and now he was staring off down the hallway, willing the doctor to come out and talk to them. They didn't know anything other than the fact that Don had been in surgery ever since his arrival at the ER, and that there was no way of knowing how much longer it might take.

Charlie hadn't been in a hospital for about eighteen months, and although it wasn't the same facility where their mother had been treated, it was hauntingly familiar. He realized that he'd spent so much time at Huntington Memorial trying to think about math that he now associated the sights and smells of the building with P vs. NP, the problem that had torn his mind away from his family for several crucial months. It was a fight now to keep his thoughts from tracing the familiar pathways of deterministic algorithms and diagonalization with reduction, not because he was trying to retreat from what had happened to Don, but because the setting was so oddly familiar.

Alan's quiet voice broke the chain of his thoughts. "I didn't think I'd be here again so soon." When Charlie turned to look at him, he said, "Not here, here; I've never been here before. But…here in a hospital, waiting to learn something."

Charlie looked away. He didn't want to say that he agreed, because he'd both figuratively and literally run away the last time Alan had been sitting in a hospital waiting room, during the one final surgery that hadn't beat the odds and hadn't saved Margaret Eppes' life. He didn't know how to say that this time, he was here for Don, and for Alan, without bringing up painful memories.

He felt his father's hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. "Stay with me, Charlie," he said quietly.

"Dad, I am," he said quickly, reaching up to take his hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

Alan looked into his eyes for a long moment, and finally nodded.

"I just wish…" Charlie gave a shrug and looked away. "I wish we knew what happened."

"I don't," came Alan's firm reply. "All that matters is that Don is in there fighting for his life. I don't want to know the details. It's bad enough as it is."

Charlie looked at him curiously. "You really think so?"

"Charlie, the only reason to know the details is to know who's to blame. Don's very good at his job, you know that. So are the people he works with, even if some of them have strange ideas about how much of your life you're supposed to devote to your work." He pressed his lips together, then went on. "So I know that whatever went wrong, it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't the fault of any of his colleagues. And I really don't want to hear the details of some murderer shooting at my son."

"That's an awful lot you're taking on faith, Dad. I mean, people make mistakes, even people who are good at what they do." His thoughts flashed back to a deserted downtown square and Don's sudden, panicked shout echoing off the glass-and-steel buildings. Then David Sinclair crashing into him, knocking him out of the way of a sniper's bullet, making him as much of an anomaly as his brother.

_The fact that you survived is an anomaly, and it's unlikely to be the outcome of a second such encounter. _Did that now apply to him, too?

Alan was looking shrewdly at him. "You're not blaming yourself for this, are you?"

"What?" He dragged himself back from his increasingly bleak thoughts. "What do you mean?"

"You have that look, Charlie. That look you get when you're worrying about something, thinking there was something more you could have done or some different approach you could have used. You're not blaming yourself for not figuring things out faster, are you?"

"No, I'm not." He started speaking more hurriedly. Better to dispel this myth than let Dad know what he was really thinking about. "I mean, I suppose I could have figured out the pattern faster, but then if Don and Cooper had arrived earlier at the place where those gang members were killed, they might have run into McDowd there, and then…" He trailed off as he saw the expression on Alan's face. "You really don't want to hear about this, do you?"

Alan sighed. "It's that Agent Cooper. I didn't like him when I met him years ago, and I didn't like how Don acted around him, and around us."

It almost sounded like the old days, when Dad was complaining to Mom about some friend of Don's who he thought wasn't good for their son. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you remember. When Don was doing that fugitive recovery stuff. We wouldn't hear from him for weeks, and all he could tell us was that it wasn't possible to make a phone call because it was too dangerous. That was reassuring, let me tell you."

"Actually, Dad, I don't remember." Charlie folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the seat. "Up until a few days ago, I didn't even know Don ever was on a fugitive recovery team."

"You're kidding! Charlie, it was at least for a year, maybe longer. There was that Christmas he couldn't come home; it drove your mother and me nuts."

He shrugged. "I just thought he was too busy or something." That had been his second year back in the States, well into his Harvard postdoc after the three years getting his Ph.D. at Oxford. He'd slowly but surely slipped out of touch with Don ever since leaving for Princeton, never quite understanding his brother's decision to join the FBI. At least, not until recently, once he saw how good Don was at his job and just how much of a difference he was able to make in the world. But at the time, as a twenty-one-year-old math professor, he'd been more concerned with finding his place in the world than finding his place in his family. He supposed Don was the same, but the difference lay in their jobs. Parents understood the pressures of the school term better than the pressures of chasing escaped criminals across the country.

Alan was saying something about Cooper. "I never liked the man, though I suppose I never gave him a fair chance. I mean, Don told us Billy was the one who got him interested in fugitive chasing, and I figured it was his fault that Don disappeared for weeks at a time." He sighed. "I guess if I'm honest with myself, I have to say that I'm holding him responsible for whatever happened to Don today. I don't suppose it's fair, but here Don goes for years without a serious injury in the line of duty, and then Cooper comes along, and…"

"Dad, we don't know what happened," he reminded him. "Billy said he would call as soon as he knew the whole story."

"The only story I want to hear right now is that Don's being moved into a recovery room and we can go and see him." Alan's voice was brittle as he reached for the long-cold cup of coffee he'd brought upstairs an hour ago. "Anything else can wait."

Charlie laid a sympathetic hand on his father's shoulder.

"Mr. Eppes?"

They both turned at the sound of the nurse's voice. "Yes?" Alan said, and Charlie was glad, because his own throat had suddenly gone dry.

She came before them and said quietly, "Dr. Williams just called and said your son is out of surgery. He'll be by in a few minutes to tell you the details."

"How is he? How's Don?"

"Dr. Williams will have to tell you that," she said apologetically, turning away to go back to the desk.

A few nervous minutes passed, with Charlie trying not to look up at the swinging doors that led to the operating rooms more often than every five seconds. Alan alternated between taking sips of coffee and firmly setting the cup down on the end table, as if trying to forego the caffeine that would only increase his nervousness.

Finally the doors opened, and a tall, red-haired man walked out, dressed in surgical scrubs with a few streaks of blood. "Mr. Eppes?"

"Right here." Alan rose to his feet and stepped forward, Charlie right behind him. "How's Don?"

"Let's take a walk, okay?" The doctor gestured towards a room off the corridor, and Charlie's heart sank. This was where they told you the bad news so the other people in the waiting room didn't have to witness it. He clenched a fist and fought down a wave of panic, keeping himself from demanding a simple answer from Dr. Williams out of dread of what that answer might be.

But when they entered the small conference room and the doctor shut the door behind them, he gave them a weary smile. "Don is not completely out of the woods yet, but we think he's going to be fine."

Charlie closed his eyes in relief and dropped into a chair, the tension suddenly drained out of him.

Alan's voice was sharp as he asked, "What do you mean, you think?"

"We'll know for sure once he regains consciousness, but for now, the signs look good. The surgery went well, he's a healthy, strong man, and nothing vital was severely damaged. We did have to remove a piece of his liver, but that will regenerate itself, as you probably know. His right lung was punctured, but because of the quick response by the EMTs and the short trip to the ER, no lasting damage was done. All in all, your son is a very lucky man."

"When can we see him?" Charlie asked quietly.

"You can have a brief look at him once we're through here, but any longer visits will have to wait until he's in his own room and out of recovery."

Charlie looked over at his father and saw the same mixture of relief and worry that he was feeling. Don was okay. He knew that as soon as he had a chance to see his brother, he'd be calling Terry and Billy and everyone else with an update. Then he'd be sitting in a different set of hard plastic chairs waiting for the opportunity to sit with Don for a little longer. "He's going to be fine, Dad," he said with the conviction that he had been missing ever since the phone rang, hours ago. "He's going to be just fine."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer in Part 1.

oooooooooooooooooo

Karen gave a huge yawn as she stepped into the elevator. It was just after 6 A.M., which was normally not too early for her. But yesterday had been exhausting, to say the least. Her calendar was still clear of patients, and the doctor who had checked her over last night had strongly recommended she rest for as long as possible today. There was no reason for her to be here. Nothing except the strong compulsion that had driven her out of bed at five as soon as she realized that sleep wouldn't be coming back.

The doors opened on the sixth floor, and she stepped out. She'd gotten Don's room number from the nurse downstairs fairly easily, with her white coat and her old L.A. General name badge. As she had expected, the floor was quiet. It was well before visiting hours and morning rounds. She'd be in and out in no time.

She'd been giving her statement to Agent Sinclair yesterday evening when he'd received the call that Don was going to be fine. It suddenly became a lot easier to endure the gut-wrenching process of reliving everything that had happened in the old hotel. But she still had to see for herself that he was really okay. And part of her had to know exactly what he had gone through, since she was the one for whom he had taken two bullets. Sinclair's terse phone conversation with Don's brother had only conveyed the basics, and she needed to know more. After all, she was the one who should have nearly died.

She walked briskly past the nurses' desk and towards room 616. Pushing the door open, she slipped inside and gently closed it behind her. The morning light was starting to slant through the blinds, but it was still fairly dark inside. She walked to the foot of the bed and stood there for a moment, looking at Don Eppes.

The regular, steady beeping from the heart monitor was a reassuring sound in the background. She followed the leads from the monitors to where they were taped to his arms and chest. He seemed to be resting peacefully, his chest rising and falling under its swathes of bandages, the thin green tube beneath his nose assisting with extra oxygen, and the white clip on his forefinger monitoring his oxygen saturation. His color was a little pale, but then he had lost a lot of blood. She blinked back the memory of her jacket soaking through with it.

There was a small line of stitches on his right cheek, where McDowd had struck him after he had called out to warn her. There was some colorful bruising over his ribs, probably from the kick he had taken on the floor. She let her eyes linger over each of his injuries, cataloguing them as a reminder of what had happened, and what hadn't happened to her.

After a few minutes, she picked up the chart at the end of the bed and examined it. To her practiced eye, it told the story of a man who had had a narrow escape, but was doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. She didn't see a notation as to when he had regained consciousness, but it wouldn't be unusual if he was still out, considering the major trauma his body had been through. She flipped to the page with the surgeon's report and started to read the details that she had come to seek.

Suddenly there was a movement off to the side, and she jumped back, clutching the clipboard to her chest. Her mind started racing, wondering how far away the door was and if she could get out in time and --

And then she noticed the cot back in the shadows. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair was sitting up on it, looking perfectly harmless. "Good morning," he said groggily, swinging his feet down to the floor.

"I'm sorry," she said, taking a step back and willing her heart to slow down. "I didn't know anyone was here." Then she paused, wondering if the rules had changed since her residency. "Usually visitors aren't allowed overnight in Recovery."

"Oh, I'm pretty stubborn," he said in a wry tone of voice. "Are you the morning shift?"

"No," she automatically replied. Then she froze. If this man was who he appeared to be, he probably wouldn't be too keen on talking to the person who had gotten his son shot. "I was just, uh, checking on Agent Eppes' condition."

His puzzled gaze took in her white doctor's coat. "You're not with the FBI, are you?"

"No, I'm not," she said, taking another step back. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you, sir. I can come back another time."

"No, it's all right," he said, rubbing his eyes. "You can tell me how he's doing," and he gestured towards Don.

"Oh. Okay." It was probably easier to play along than to run off and make him suspicious. So she stepped forward, taking the stethoscope from around her neck. The real doctor was going to wonder what was going on when he or she found that the morning rounds had already been done in Room 616.

The older man watched in silence as she took Don's pulse and respiration. She jotted them down and then looked back through the chart, comparing the numbers she'd just observed to the ones from last night. "He's coming along fine," she said softly, in her best encouraging doctor voice.

Her eyes caught on the initial numbers from when he'd first been brought in to the ER, and she swallowed. Flipping through to the surgeon's report, she saw that his pulse had almost disappeared twice during surgery, and she let out a soft gasp at the amount of blood that had been pumped back into him.

"What is it?" the man on the cot demanded.

"Nothing," she quickly reassured him, aware that her voice wasn't as strong as it was a minute ago. "Don was very lucky." And so was I, she thought, staring at the stranger who had saved her life. She remembered exactly where she'd been yesterday, crouched on the windowsill in midflight. McDowd's shots wouldn't have hit her in the liver or the lung. They'd have gone right into her heart.

"Doctor, is everything all right?"

She put a hand up to her face, then suddenly realized where she was and who she was talking to. "I'm -- I'm sorry, Mr. Eppes. It is Mr. Eppes, right?" When he nodded, looking more than a little confused, she took a deep breath. He deserved to know the truth.

"I have a confession to make. I'm not Don's doctor. I don't even work at this hospital." His eyes widened, and she hurried on, "My name is Karen Fisher. I'm the witness that Don was protecting yesterday. I'm -- " Her second deep breath was more shuddering than the first. "I would be dead if it weren't for him, and I'm the reason he's here."

He was quiet for a moment. She looked away, ready to walk out of the room to avoid his wrath and to avoid waking Don. Then his voice came softly across the room, "Are you all right, Karen?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said with a touch of bitterness. "Just fine, even though I'm the one he was after."

"The one who was after?" He rose to his feet and moved towards her. "My name's Alan. Don doesn't tell me much about his cases; he probably doesn't want me to worry. I suppose he's right about that. So all I know is that there was some escaped convict that he and his old partner were trying to track down."

She nodded, swallowing back a lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. "I, um, I saw him kill a man a few years ago. I testified at his trial, and they told me he was locked up for good. Then Agent Eppes came by a week ago to tell me this man, McDowd, was out, and that I might be in danger." She shook her head. "I didn't believe him. Then he came by again and said they had more information, and that I really needed to go into protective custody."

"That must have been hard for you," he said softly.

"Yeah, it was. It was like a nightmare repeating itself, you know?" She dared to look over at him, and he was nodding sympathetically. "So they put me in this safe house near downtown, but it obviously wasn't very safe. I guess there had been a cop in on it all along, who helped break McDowd out and who told him where I was. And…he came and found me."

"Is that when Don came along?"

She nodded, wiping away a tear that had started to form while she was talking. "Yeah. He chased McDowd up onto the roof and told me to hide. I don't know what happened, but only a few minutes later McDowd was banging on the door and demanding that I let him in or he would kill an FBI agent. And then Don called out to me, telling me to get out, and then I think he hit him." She gestured towards her cheek in the same place where Don's face was marked with a row of neat stitches.

She looked up to see that Alan's face had grown paler. "So the fugitive managed to capture Don instead of the other way around?"

She suddenly realized who she was talking to. Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'm sorry, Mr. Eppes. You -- you probably don't want to hear all of this. I should just go."

"No, it's okay." He heaved in a great breath, but kept his gaze steady on hers. "I think you need to say it. You came here for a reason." Then his voice grew quieter, as if he was talking to himself. "And maybe after all, I need to hear it."

"If I could trade myself for him, I would. I mean, I tried: I asked McDowd to let him go, that I was the one he was after." She shook her head. "And then it all happened so fast." She had gone over every detail of this with Agent Sinclair yesterday, a couple of times, but now it all seemed like one blurred nightmare. "He was going to shoot me, and then they started struggling for the gun, and then…" She looked down at the still-sleeping Don. "He just -- threw himself in front of me. He was on the floor, and he must have seen that he couldn't get to McDowd, so he just threw himself in front of me. Without a vest, without anything. And -- "

She stopped. The memory of Don's face twisting with sudden, excruciating pain was something she would never forget. Nor would she forget the way he had collapsed to the ground at her feet, or that his sacrifice would have been meaningless if his partner had been a second later with his own weapon. It was also something she would never tell someone as close to Don as his father.

So she finished quietly, "And then Agent Cooper came up from the hallway and shot McDowd, and then we waited for the paramedics."

Alan was looking at his son, one hand clenched around the railing at the foot of the bed. "Amazing," he said softly.

"He really is," she agreed. "I guess I knew in the abstract what it meant to have people assigned to watch over me, to protect me. I just never thought something like this would actually happen."

He turned and fixed her with a look. "And you're feeling guilty about it, aren't you?"

She blinked. How could he be trying to comfort her, when it was his son who had nearly died for her? "I suppose so," she answered. "I mean, if it weren't for me, this wouldn't have happened," and she gestured towards Don.

Alan was shaking his head. "If it weren't for that criminal McDowd, this wouldn't have happened. I know what Don would say if he was awake, and I'm going to say it for him. It is not your fault that some maniac was after you. Nor was it your fault that Don chose to protect you the only way he could. It was horrible what you had to go through, yes, and it's horrible what Don has gone through, but it wasn't your doing." He looked down at his son. "And if I know Don, I'm going to have to have the same conversation with him once he wakes up."

She bit back the comment that it was actually Don's fault that he was shot, and asked instead, "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "Don is a good FBI agent. That's not just fatherly pride talking, mind you, that's what his colleagues tell me, and it's what I've seen when I've gotten to observe him work. He's damn good, as a matter of fact. But he takes too much on his shoulders. You watch, he'll blame himself for not getting to you sooner and for putting you through all this when it wasn't his fault at all."

She said ruefully, "He did more than enough to make up for it."

"You should come back and tell him that yourself," Alan quietly replied.

She looked at him for a moment, then back at Don. "I just don't understand. How does someone offer up their life for someone they don't even know?"

"It sounds like you already know the answer to that."

She stared at him. "I don't understand."

There was a rustling noise from the bed. They both turned to see Don shifting a bit, and as Alan moved to his side, his eyes slowly opened.

Alan sat down on the cot and grasped Don's hand with both of his. "Donnie?"

She took a hesitant step towards the door, knowing that she should find the doctor on call. But Alan's gaze flickered to her for a moment, and she stayed.

"Dad?" Don's voice was little more than a croak.

"I'm here, son. You're okay, Donnie, you're going to be just fine."

His eyes fluttered shut, then came wide open. "Karen?" he asked with as much urgency as he could muster. "She okay?"

It took a second for her to find her voice. "I'm fine," she stammered, coming around to his other side. "Thanks to you."

His head turned a bit, and when his dark brown eyes locked on hers, he seemed to settle back into the pillows. "Good," he murmured. Then, so softly she almost didn't hear it, "'m sorry. Not there sooner."

She exchanged a look with Alan, whose face had "I told you so" written all over it. "It's all right," she said, reaching out to touch his arm. "It's more than all right. You saved my life."

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Good," he breathed. "Hate to hurt like this for nothing."

She felt tears springing to her eyes, and she quickly turned away. "I'll get the doctor on call," she said, hurrying towards the door.

Outside, she leaned back against the wall and took a moment to compose herself. She still didn't have all the answers she had come here for, but thanks to Don's father, she had a start. For one thing, it was clear that concern for strangers ran in the family. She couldn't imagine most people being so compassionate in Alan Eppes' situation.

But she would come back and visit Don later for the answer to her question, and maybe to Alan's as well. Showing compassion was one thing. But giving up your life for someone… that was something else entirely.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer in Part 1.

oooooooooooooooooo

"And the Dodgers go down in order. At the end of eight, it's Cubs 6, Dodgers 3."

Don pressed the mute button on the remote and leaned back against the pillows. Not only was he stuck in the hospital for a couple more days, his team couldn't manage to pull off what should be an easy win to keep up his spirits.

He shifted uncomfortably. He couldn't really lie on his back without pain, and his ribs protested if he moved around too much trying to find a good position on his side. But he knew he shouldn't complain. When two days ago he had been awake enough to really be aware of his visitors, Charlie's face had told him how close he had come to not worrying about any pain at all. After he and Dad had left, Don had asked the doctor to tell him straight out what the damage had been. When the red-headed man was done, he'd sat in silence for a long while.

_Statistically, you're dead now._ Charlie's words from months ago came flashing into his head. He wondered what his brother thought the odds were like now.

He'd been relieved beyond words when Coop stuck his head through the doorway yesterday. Charlie had told him he was fine, but he wouldn't believe it until he saw him with his own eyes. It took a while to get the whole story of what had happened at the safe house out of Billy, who seemed intent on blaming himself for not watching out for Don. Of course, Don was just as convinced that he himself was at fault for allowing McDowd's shot to knock Coop down, rendering him unconscious for a few critical minutes.

They had argued back and forth, something Terry probably would call working out their latent fears in a low-key verbal confrontation, each pointing out how the other had done the best job he could. At some point, Coop's self-confident streak took over, and he asserted that he knew he was a damn good agent, and Don was too, and then Don agreed, and then they looked sheepishly at each other and admitted they were both right.

Alan, who'd been eavesdropping from the doorway, dryly commented that it was a good thing they'd settled that, or the testosterone levels in the room would have started registering an alert at the nurses' station.

But that was yesterday, and today, after a brief visit from his father on his way to volunteering at the shelter, and a call from Charlie between classes, he'd been on his own. It was kind of nice, actually. He had some things to think about, and although the baseball game had been a distraction for the last couple of hours, it was about to come to an end.

There was a knock at the door. When it didn't immediately open, he called, "Come in."

The door swung open, and Karen Fisher stood hesitantly in the doorway. "Hi, Agent Eppes. Are you busy?"

He could feel his smile stretching the stitches on his cheek. "Just watching my team lose. Come on in," he said as he clicked off the TV.

He had only seen her in her white doctor's coat, except at the safe house when he had had other things on his mind. She looked much more relaxed, in jeans and a soft sage-colored sweater that brought out her green eyes. She looked around as she entered and asked, "So, being in the FBI rates you your own room, huh?"

He gave a slightly embarrassed shrug and set the remote on the bedside table. "Yeah, well, I guess they figured no one else should have to be subjected to me whining about how soon I can get out of here."

She sat down in the chair next to the bed, crossing her legs. "I talked to Dr. Williams, and he said you should be able to go home the day after tomorrow."

"That's what they tell me. No offense, but I don't like spending any more time around doctors in a hospital than I have to."

The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. "I know what you mean. I did a residency in the ER here years ago. I just couldn't take seeing all of the things that people did to each other. There aren't many gunshot or stabbing victims in general practice, you know?"

"Yeah, I suppose," he replied.

They fell silent. Finally he asked, "So, how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said almost dismissively. "I started seeing patients again this morning. It was good to get back into the familiar routine."

"That's good," he agreed.

More silence. He started wondering why Karen had come, if she wasn't going to say anything. "So, uh, my dad said that you stopped by a couple of days ago."

She looked up, startled. "Um, yeah, I did. You probably don't remember."

He shook his head apologetically. "There's a lot that's hazy from the last few days." There were, however, a few moments he remembered with crystal clarity. Like crashing to the floor, his back on fire with pain. Or hearing McDowd's gun go off a moment later and being sure that Karen was dead. Most of those moments were ones he didn't care to relive.

"I just -- I had to see if you were okay." She looked across the room and out the window, the sunlight catching on her honey-blond hair as she turned her head. "Your father was amazing. I thought he'd be furious at me, but he was so understanding. He's a really great guy."

"Yeah, he is," Don said slowly. "Why would he be mad at you?"

She looked at him like he was stupid. "Because it's my fault you were shot."

Dad would be so pleased to know he was right. "Karen, you weren't the one who pulled the trigger. It wasn't your fault."

"But I was the one you were protecting. I was the one who couldn't manage to get away or hide well enough. I was the one that you -- " She broke off, and he could see that the memory was just as sharp in her mind as it was in his.

He leaned forward. "And I was the one who let McDowd sneak up on me. I was the one who couldn't get away from him. The only thing you did wrong was letting him into your room."

"He was going to kill you!" Her voice had risen in pitch, but not in volume, as though even while upset, she could maintain hospital-level decorum.

"Yeah, and he almost did anyway. My job was to protect you. That protection got a lot harder once you opened that door." He knew he shouldn't be taking it out on her, but he could remember how his heart had sunk when the hotel room door opened. Her sense of self-preservation had been so strong a moment before when she pulled away on the stairwell; why would she let a killer in?

"He would have kicked it down anyway." She leaned closer to him and spoke more rapidly. "You know he would have. When I heard you outside, and then I heard -- " She reached up as if to touch the healing gash and bruise on his cheek, and then withdrew her hand. "I knew he hadn't killed the man guarding me, so he probably wouldn't kill you, as long as I let him in."

"In other words, you were willing to give up your life for me."

He had spoken quietly, but he could see that his words made an impact on her. She sat back in her chair and put her hand to her mouth. Then she softly said, her voice stunned as though she had just realized it, "I guess at that point I figured I was dead anyway."

He instantly reached out and took her other hand, ignoring the twinges of pain from his ribs as he moved. "Karen, what you did was incredibly brave. You asked my dad how someone could be willing to give up their life for a stranger, and here you offered yourself. I do remember that much of what happened. Maybe McDowd was bluffing with me or maybe he wasn't; I don't know. The truth is, you gave up your safety for my sake. And that's a remarkable thing to do."

Her hand tightened on his. "Not nearly as remarkable as you. To just leap in front of someone like that with no protection…"

"Like I said, I can't remember everything, but -- " He looked away for a moment, then back into her eyes. "Don't ever tell my father this, okay?" When she nodded, he went on, a little hesitantly, "I don't think I realized I wasn't wearing a vest."

Her eyes went wide. "Really?"

He thought about it for a moment. He'd just received a serious kick in the ribs that he should have known wouldn't have hurt nearly so much with a vest. But when he'd heard the click of the pistol and seen where McDowd was aiming, he hadn't consciously thought about anything except how quickly he could get off the floor and get Karen out of the way.

The corner of his mouth turned up. "You know, I think you're lucky I didn't push you out the window."

She stared at him for a moment. Then she quickly looked down, her lips pressed tightly together.

Don tugged on her hand, concerned. But when she looked up, it became apparent that it wasn't tears she was trying to suppress, but laughter. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face, and soon the two of them were releasing the tension with a quiet bout of laughter. He had no idea what was so funny about what he'd said, but he realized it was something they both desperately needed.

He also realized Dr. Fisher was positively beautiful when she smiled.

He was still holding her hand, and before the moment could get awkward, he withdrew and leaned back against the pillows, stifling a groan as he did so. Karen leaned forward, a concerned expression on her face, but he waved her off. "It's fine," he said, shifting his position a bit. "I'm just a little sore."

"That's why they provide that button, you know," and she pointed at the call button beside his bed.

He shook his head. "No, I can deal with it." She looked like she was about to roll her eyes, and he hurried on, "It's not a macho thing, I swear. I've heard too many stories about injured agents becoming dependent on painkillers, and I definitely don't need that."

"Three days do not an addiction make," she said sternly, rising to her feet. "You need to be able to rest, and you can't do that if you're moving around every few seconds trying to get comfortable. I'll go get the nurse."

"Really, Karen, I'm fine." He knew the wince he had just made belied the truth of his words; there were just too many body parts that hurt right now.

"No, you're not. You just had two bullets taken out of you, and your body needs time to recover without the additional stress of extreme pain." When he opened his mouth to protest again, she lifted a hand and cut him off. "You're very good at your job, Agent Eppes. I'm also good at mine. Let the people who are here to take care of you, take care of you."

He sighed, defeated. "All right. On one condition. You call me Don, not Agent Eppes."

Her cheeks actually went a little pink, and she ducked her head so that a curtain of straw-colored hair hid her face. "Okay, deal." Then she turned around and headed for the door.

He watched her go, his stomach suddenly in knots that had nothing to do with their earlier conversation, or with the prospect of asking for pain medication. He ran through a series of arguments in his head at a speed that would have made Charlie proud, and finally decided there wasn't much to lose. As her hand was on the door, he called out, "Karen?"

She turned to look at him inquiringly, and he almost lost his nerve. He fidgeted with the edge of the sheet for a moment, telling himself this was ridiculous. She would certainly change her opinion about his bravery if he hesitated any longer. So he said in a rush, "I know it might not be completely appropriate, and I don't want you to feel any pressure at all, but would you be interested in going out to lunch some time once I'm out of here?"

Her head tilted to the side, she regarded him for so long that he was about to say, "Never mind." Then she took a step back towards him and said, "On one condition."

He tried to keep his expression calm as he lifted his eyebrows in inquiry, but his heart was pounding.

"That it's dinner, not lunch."

She was trying to keep her face straight, but the corners of her mouth were turning up. He felt a similar smile creeping across his face. "I think I can handle that," he said slowly.

She gave him another one of those beautiful smiles and opened the door. "I think you know where to reach me, Don."

When the door closed, he pumped his fist and gave a quiet, "Yes!" Without even a wince.

oooooooooooooooo

Thanks for reading! Now, see that little pull-down menu just below this and to the left? Yes, that's right. The one that says "Submit review"? And the button next to it that says "Go"? Just one little click is all it takes…


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